So I finally broke down and ordered the insurance replacement for my cell phone. I’d somehow gotten used to the smashed screen and shaking out loose glass chips before I tried to use it. I mean, it still worked so why bother? I could still take pics and everything.
But when the display started jumping and twitching like a crackhead, I knew it was done.
I got another iPhone 6 and it’s nestled inside a turquoise Otter Box Defender case. I’m hard on phones.
It’s been a year since you transitioned. I hope you’re settling in nicely. Do you know what you’ll do next? Well, its’ probably too early for that. You made such an indelible mark on the world, a bit of rest is good.
Thank you, Prince, for the half-century of music, boldness, style, craftsmanship, and a side-eye that melts titanium.
Thank you for the incredible catalog of published work. I’ve been listening to it consistently for the past year, but I still haven’t gotten through the whole thing. I’ll listen to a song—one I’ve heard a hundred times—then a nuance in the lyrics, vocals or composition will come to the fore, changing the entire experience.
So now I listen with fresh ears–every time
You once said that you are Music. That’s certainly true, but I’d add Creativity to that as well. Your music is as instructive as it is evocative. I marvel at the breadth of your skill: lyricist, composer, arranger, singer, musician10, producer, conductor, studio master. Not to mention your unwavering discipline and commitment to your craft; writing a song every day and delivering flawless performances in any condition, from driving rain to agonizing pain.
You were my first writing instructor when I was 14 and still my most trusted advisor as I get back to my writing roots. I am eternally grateful.
If the people picking over your bones had any sense, they would turn Paisley Park into a School of Creative Arts or at least offer a summer fellowship program for talented musicians. You did say you always wanted to teach and you work with some of the finest musicians in the world so there’re plenty of teachers. And honestly, wouldn’t that be better than having a bunch of strangers traipsing through your private home?
BTW, I love the thing with the will. The Folks are trying to figure out how to ‘exploit’ your assets and create ‘profit centers’ regardless of what how you feel. They’re fighting over ‘rights’ and ‘royalties, ‘ but your music is a gift to the world.
They can say they ‘own’ it but, no one can own the Spirit.
The world is purple in your honor today. I hope you make it to a few of the parties, especially in Minneapolis. I wish I were there tonight.
I’m going to a Prince-themed Karaoke Night here in Memphis; it’ll just be regular folks singing your songs. Try not to slay us all with your celestial side-eye when hit the wrong notes. It’s all love.
This is really cool!
We lost Charlie Murphy today. Leukemia. He left a legacy of unfettered humor, candid acting, and brilliant insight into real shit. His greatest gifts are the phrase “habitual line-stepper” and one of the best Prince stories on the planet. Rest In Power Charlie.
But it is interesting that Prince transitioned on April 21, 2016, at the age of 57 and Charlie Murphy made his transition on April 12, 2017, at age 57. More basketball and pancakes? I certainly hope so.
Here is a link to the story, When Prince was My Girlfriend, I told at Spillit: Lost & Found on July 8, 2016, at Amurica. Spillit is a live storytelling event; kinda like The Moth, only Southern.
My story starts at the 18-minute mark. Prince has been so influential in my life that I took his constant presence for granted. His death hit me particularly hard. I was rather nervous when I started, but it really gets interesting about age 14.
I’ll be telling another story at Spillit: Dear Diary on Thursday, April 27th at 7 p.m. No, it won’t be about Prince. I hope to see you there.
On the way home from an appointment in Cordova yesterday, I drove past the back paddocks of Shelby Park Farms. They were filled with the most beautiful horses. It was a real community of horses with family groups and ponies—not the usual clutch of shell-shocked animals standing alone with only flies for company. The color spectrum was fantastic: black walnut, roasted chestnut, fudge brownie, sweet caramel, buttercream, and champagne. Some were solid shades others had swirls, patches, spots, and dappling.
The ponies and adolescents nipped and played with each other in the recent patches of mud, splashing each other in the aftermath of the spontaneous spring storm. The light breeze danced in their hair as they trotted passed small groups of adults nibbling on sweet grasses.
I haven’t seen so many horses in one place in more than ten years. I pulled into the park with the zeal only nature stirs in me. I got out of the car with a bag of the Ambrosia apples, my absolute favorite apple.
The Ambrosia is a natural hybrid born in an orchard in British Columbia.
They were on sale for $1.99 a pound, so I bought four. But I couldn’t keep them to myself. I put them on the ground and sliced them into chunks with the windshield scraper in my car.
Standing at the barbed-wire fence feeding the horses all my cares fell away: the headaches, financial pressures, writing insecurities, all of it. Gone. Some of them ate more than others. There was plenty of nipping and horsey side-eye. Horses aren’t very big on sharing—or waiting.
It reminded me of grocery shopping when my family lived in Midland, Texas. Back then, I’d go to the store and return about three hours later. I would legit spend two hours in the grocery store, but that last hour I’d spend at the fences feeding the neighbors horses the carrots or apples I’d bought just for them. My family could never understand what took me so long. Not sure if I ever told them, but I was feeding the horses. I only managed a few shots. The last one is my favorite. Pictures!